


Longview

by eternaleponine



Category: Magic University - Cecilia Tan
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frost fantasizes about Kyle.  Spoilers through Book 3, since it occurs at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Longview

Kyle knows, but he doesn't understand.  He doesn't comprehend what it means that I was abused as a... as a little girl.  There, I said it.  Happy now?  And it kills me a little, knowing that he'll never really get it, and I can't explain.  I don't owe him anything.  He's torn me up enough without my ripping open old scars and letting him poke at ancient wounds.

Yet those words hurt more than I could have imagined.  "I won't take your virginity."  Driving home the fact that he doesn't understand that it's far, _far_ too late for that.  It was already taken, stolen, ripped from me when I was too young to even really know what I was losing.  All I knew was that it hurt.  It felt bad, wrong, and I couldn't figure out what I could possibly have done to deserve it.

And I wonder, can't help wondering, what it would be like if he could... or I could.  If my virginity was still mine to give, and I let him have it, what would it be like?  I've already let him have it once, what was still left to me, but that was under duress, in terror, and in the aftermath I was left even more broken than before.

He would be gentle.  He would try, anyway, my White Knight.  He would be slow and careful and if I changed my mind he would stop and it would be good.  Wouldn't it?  He would be good, because it's not in him nature to be anything else.  Even his incubus was a kind, gentle demon.  Even then, he didn't hurt me, when he could have so easily.

I shouldn't want this, want him.  I try and fail to convince myself that I don't.  I haven't let myself feel much of anything since that day in the spring because if I do my heart will shatter into a hundred thousand razor sharp pieces and destroy me entirely.  It's already trying to, and I know that if he could he would kiss it and make it better, and maybe he's the only one that can, but I can't.  I can't, and damn him for not understanding that either.

I haven't come since that day we caged the incubus.  Even then, that last time, I didn't.  I don't let myself think about it because I know if I do I'll want a chance for us to get it right this time.

I lay in bed and want him so bad it's as if my hands develop a mind of their own, and I let himself imagine that they're his hands instead, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples through the baggy t-shirt I wear to sleep in.  I've never done this before in this body, and it feels strange.

I close my eyes and give in to the fantasy, though my own touch is a poor substitute for his.  I make myself believe, though.  His hands slide down my sides and back up under the shirt, tickling over my ribs before they find my breasts again.  He rolls the hard nubs between his fingers, and I moan softly.  He looks up and smiles and presses kisses along my sternum before laving his tongue over the sensitive points, earning another gasp.

The ache between my legs is wholly unlike the feeling of arousal in a male body, and it grows steadily the longer he (I) runs his hands over my skin.  He kisses down my stomach, his hands on my hips, but the inevitable conclusion of the path his mouth takes is a feeling I don't know and can't imagine so he changes course.

He moves back up my body, kisses me softly, then pulls me against him like he did when we were trapped, one arm across my chest and his breath in my ear.  "Do you trust me?" he asks, and I nod because it's the truth as far as it goes.  I trust him with my body but not with my heart, but this isn't about that.

His fingers make their way under the waistband of my pajama pants and lower, lower until they reach the place between my legs that I've never touched like this.  He edges a finger through the dark hair, parting the lips, and finds me slick and hot and ready.  He presses deeper, pulling my hips back against his own and I can feel that he wants me, wants more, but he'll never try to take it, or even mention it.

I shudder as his fingertip threatens to breach me and he backs off, kissing the hollow behind my ear.  "It's all right," he breathes.  "I won't.  Not this time."  Like there will be another time.  "It's all right, Frost," he repeats, then hesitates before saying, "Timothy."  But that's wrong, too, and he settles on "love".

I sob, from the name or from the shocks of pleasure that shoot up my spine when he finds my clit and glides his finger over it.  He teases it for a little while, and then his touch becomes a little more forceful as I grind against his hand.  It builds and builds and I whimper in frustration and start to tell him to stop, that it's not going to happen but he kisses my throat again and whispers, "Come for me, love.  I need you to."

This time I do.  This time all of the muscles down there clench and release and I can't help it when tears stream down my face... and turn to sobs when I open my eyes and he's not there. 

A shard of my heart breaks loose and stabs into me, tearing me apart from the inside out.  I stumble to the bathroom and am sick.


End file.
